Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) by Janette Oke Page B

should have for lunch.
    "What—what do you mean?" stammered Sarah.
    "We should git married and—and be a fambly."
    "Family," corrected Sarah. "We should be a family."
    "Ya-ay," agreed Rebecca noisily, lifting her hands to clap them in the air. Sarah at once realized her misstatement.
    "No. No, I didn't mean—that," Sarah quickly explained. "I just meant that—that was the proper way to say it—not that—that it was what I thought should be done. I mean—I have no intention—none whatever of—of marrying anyone, Rebecca. I—we—don't you understand?"
    Rebecca looked crestfallen.
    "You promised," she accused her mother.
    "No. No, I certainly did not promise any such thing. I was—was simply correcting your—your word—fambly. I—I didn't mean—"
    "But you said it," cut in Rebecca. "You said we should be a—" She stopped and thought hard, then slowly and carefully pronounced the word, "fam-i-ly. You said so."
    "Yes—I said it, but I didn't mean that we—" Sarah stopped and rose to her feet. She didn't wish to be involved in this ridiculous debate with her young daughter. It would spoil their whole evening together, and their time was limited at best.
    "What should we do tonight?' she asked as brightly as she could. "Would you like to make cookies?"
    "I already made cookies with Aunt Min," replied Rebecca a bit dourly.
    "Well—then—we won't make cookies. We'll—play a game."
    "I don't feel like playing a game," said Rebecca.
    "Well—what do you feel like doing?"
    Too late Sarah realized her mistake. Rebecca looked at her calmly and then replied, "I feel like being a fam-i-ly. I hate always having to come home just when it's time for Uncle Boyd to come home from work. I hardly get to see him anymore."
    Sarah drew in her breath. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. She would not allow herself to cry—especially not in front of Rebecca. But it didn't seem fair that Rebecca should care more about her personally adopted Uncle Boyd than she did about her own mother. It just didn't seem fair. It was she, Sarah, who filled her days with back-breaking work to care for her young child. Boyd just pampered and spoiled her—had fun with her. Why should he be the one to receive her love and devotion?
    But as quickly as Sarah's hurt and anger washed over her, it also drained away.
    It's not the child's fault, she told herself firmly. Boyd has been good to her. She misses her father. She misses me. I should — as her mother, be caring for her myself. Then there wouldn't be this — this wrenching of loyalties. She would have a home. A constant. She wouldn't be shuttled back and forth between people. No wonder she is confused and — and longing for a real home. No wonder.
    Sarah reached out a hand and pushed back Rebecca's soft hair. "This has been hard for you," she wished to say, but she knew if she tried to speak, the tears would fall, so she said nothing, just stroked the child's hair and longed with all of her heart to be able to stay at home—as a real mother.
    "How would you like to go to school?" she asked at length.
    Rebecca clapped her hands. She had begged to go to school with the other kids in the small town. Ever since she had turned four, she had been asking when she would be able to go.
    "Not—not right away," hurried on Sarah, lest Rebecca run and change her clothes for the upcoming event. "Not until next fall—when you are six. Past six."
    For a moment the eyes clouded.
    "It will be for the fall term," went on Sarah, "the next school year."
    It began to sound better to Rebecca. She had never been promised any school before. Maybe "next year" wouldn't be so long after all.
    "I need to tell Mary," she said with excitement. "She's been waiting for me for a long, long time."
    Not such a long time, thought Sarah. Mary, from across the street, was only a year older than Rebecca.
    "Can I go tell her?" coaxed Rebecca.
    "Not—not tonight," said Sarah firmly. "You see— I've—I've been doing a